Machinery
by flockwound
Summary: Isaac and Damien, brothers since childhood, begin their careers as Captains at the tender age of 12. However, because of a promise to their father, they must do everything together. Whether it's training in their respective schools, gathering their crew, or going into battle, both have to be within hearing distance of the other.
1. the foundling

**1: the foundling**

**(((-)))**

The boy tightened his grip on the thin walking stick, leaning heavily on it as he staggered to take another step. His skin was slick with sweat and the air was saturated with sickly sweet heat. The rainwater collecting on the forest floor was clouded with plants and dirt. Frogs' croaks echoed off the trees.

He tore a thin piece of bark off of a nearby tree, not sure if it was edible or poisonous like every other godforsaken thing of the jungle. Pushing it into his mouth, he chewed the leathery strip lethargically. When it became pliable and lost its flavor, he dropped it to the ground and tore off a new piece. His eyes darted about in an effort to stay open with the heavy heat. He could feel the mud on the back of his legs through the cloth of his thinning pants. The tree loomed over him mockingly; the leaves rippled in too-dark, too-vivid colors. The sun overhead was a lazy halo lagging behind the coconuts that he couldn't reach.

**((*))**

It was subtle, but experienced eyes could see them. Glowing blue marks lined the inside of protruding roots of the territory they were invading. Suspiciously young-looking leaves covered certain areas by the edge of the island, and smooth-ended logs were strewn over the ground.

Captain Avery, noting the sudden presence of flying barrels exploding alarmingly close to his island, decided to take action against the things that dared try to harm his island. He also found that barrels of gunpowder he himself had stolen had gone missing. By his orders, all pirates living on the land he owned were to venture into Troggy territory and teach the savages a lesson.

The bulging eyes and wide mouths were set in grim, round faces. They wore heavy war paint on their faces and hands. There was a dark red line slicked from the bottom of their lips to their chins as a tribute to their amphibious war god. Dressed in little more than dried grass, leaves, and rope, the savages held their spears at the ready.

Accompanying the Troggies were the Cutthroats, sharks of men with cruel habits. They were armored to the teeth. The Troggies didn't look the slightest bit trustful of their companions, but it was obvious that a recent truce had formed an alliance between the two groups.

Ulysses growled under his breath as he rested his hand on the hilt of his sword. The leader of the hunting party stepped forward.

"On behalf of the pirate Captain Avery, we will exterminate the Troggies' threat," the man said, not a hint of doubt in his voice. Pete was his name, Ulysses thought. His thick body was corded with muscle and he made for an intimidating silhouette. "Surrender your gunpowder or we'll be forced to take extreme measures."

"We'll see about that. Get 'em, boys!" With an unholy warcry, the Cutthroats and Troggies charged forward in an ununited scramble across the battlefield. Pete fell back, and immediately musketeers stepped forward, positioning their guns. The roar of gunfire drummed the air. As soon as the men fired once, a new row of musketeers took their place, giving them time to reload without pausing the assault.

When they were sufficiently confident in winning through personal arms, the pirates charged forward. Musketeers fell back as their comrades surged forward. They made sure their bayonets were attached justly before running in with their own yells. Ulysses grinned, sprinting forward in the exhilaration of overpowering his enemy.

Ulysses' sword was drawn. Though the number of adversaries had thinned, the opponents were still outnumbering them. Around him, others were slaughtering the Troggies. The scent of copper was thick in the humid air, making it hard to breathe, but this was what he lived for. He inhaled and exalted in the atmosphere. The wind stopped. His hand was slashing, stabbing at the savage islanders. It met resistance in a Troggy shaman, who gasped at the sudden slice to his belly. His eyes flew frantically to Ulysses as he tried to cast a defensive spell, a healing spell, or any powerful attack spell he knew. Before he finished choking out the incantation, Ulysses pulled his sword back and stabbed him straight through, coating his sword with blood halfway to the hilt. The thick red blossomed across the man's chest as his knees buckled, body going limp and heavy. His eyes rolled into the back of his head and he clutched his hand over his wound, trying to staunch the flow. But it was too late. Ulysses grinned, taking a final stab and pulling out the sword. He flicked off the blood with a professional switch of his arm.

Turning to the next available opponent, the buccaneer saw a Cutthroat staring at him without fear. They moved towards each other simultaneously. The Cutthroat drew his own blade, a cutlass that would surely glance off his armor. Ulysses' grin was bloodthirsty, and any pirates who knew him moved their own fights away. They weren't stupid enough to stand in the way of Merciless Ulysses Spinnaker's unbridled thirst for violence. Anticipation curled the man's stomach.

The Cutthroats thin eyes narrowed in glee, making sure his grin bared his sharpened teeth. Readying his sword, Ulysses charged forward. _He who strikes first strikes twice, _he remembered learning from Mordekai. He closed in with a swift jab, and then a slash, but both were deflected by the curved blade. He growled in challenge, studying his opponent. The heavyset Cutthroat would be less agile than sturdy. He tended to shift his weight to his heel when stepping. Ulysses aimed for the man's weak point, his left leg. Even when he caught the man by surprise, he was barely able to make a shallow cut in the man's meaty thigh. The man started moving on the balls of his feet slowly, not making any sudden movements. They were fluid but amateur, and that was just what Ulysses needed.

**(*)**

By the end of the battle (massacre), Ulysses was grinning wildly. He looked like a starved man who'd eaten a feast. His comrades thumped him on the back as they surveyed the damage; about ninety percent of the enemy forces had been slaughtered, and the rest had surrendered. As of the moment, Avery's men began to loot the territory, through which bitter tribal people stalked and watched their conquerors.

The lights in the hollows of tree roots had become dimmer with the battle. Ulysses watched as pirates, mainly witch doctors, ducked into the ditches. They returned with bulging sacks, probably filled with ingredients or something. Jenna, one of the most prominent witch doctors, shoved one of the sacks into Ulysses' hands.

"Hold this for a second, will you?" she asked. However, before he could respond, she was squeezing back under the tree. Shortly thereafter, she returned with another full bag. "Thanks." she said abruptly. She pulled the burlap from his hands. Jenna was a plucky woman, always ready to finish whatever she started. She barely reached Ulysses' chest, and she could easily defeat him and any other pirate with her hands tied.

As she briskly strode off accompanied by her admiring crew, Ulysses called out, "You're welcome!" Her first mate, an old but fit man likely of Mooshu origin, levelled him with a calm gaze. His walking stick seemed more like a weapon than an aid at that moment.

Ulysses watched their decessus with a raised brow. He glanced to one of the tribal warriors, who averted his eyes. The man's slight limp was almost unnoticeable with the wounded pride in his gait. He seemed restless. His fingers were twitching and he seemed in a hurry to rush Ulysses to the next area of the community. _Might as well play around a little,_ Ulysses thought to himself. _This is your punishment for trying to vandalize our island._ He started to look around, his gaze dropping on a group of trees Jenna had dismissed as residential rooms. As Ulysses approached the knoll, the guide seemed to become more nervous. Ulysses thought it was only fair to inspect their homes, seeing as the natives had attacked his own.

Suddenly, the short, gritty man stepped in front of him. "You not go that place-" he commanded in thickly accented, broken vernacular. Though he already looked to be in his late 20s, his voice was high pitched. Nervously, he began to twitch away from the Ulysses, who had pinned him with a withering gaze. The man flinched. The birds were silent, but the trees rustled overhead. Ulysses could feel hundreds of apprehensive people surrounding them.

"I'm going to that place now." Ulysses said slowly, narrowing his stare. _Hah, w__e already won the battle, you frog-worshipping freak._ He purposely pushed the shorter man aside and marched to the towering trees. Before he could duck into the nearest hole, the man pulled him back again.

"Please, no this." he pleaded. Ulysses could practically smell his fear. The Troggy snatched his hand away from Ulysses arm as if it had burned him, still twitching fearfully. This guy probably saw him fighting. Ulysses ignored him, turning back. The panic of the guide was seeping through his skin in waves.

It was surprisingly clean inside. Jars filled with foods and common herbs were neatly stacked on shelves. A rag was folded over a bucket half-filled with clear water sitting on the floor beside a stack of blankets. Scurrying in front of the blankets, the Troggy began shaking violently. Staring directly at the blankets, he saw what the young man was trying to conceal.

There was a hand, and it wasn't a course, thick Troggy hand. It was slim and smooth, barely there. The fingers were still. It was small and vulnerable all at once.

**(*)**

"He isn't in critical condition anymore," Mitch said as he straightened, raising his hand from the forehead of a prone form. "But he needs a lot of rest. And I do mean _a lot_," he eyed Ulysses' folded figure leaning against a wall in the corner of the room. "He will also need an attendant. The wet rag needs to be replaced about every three hours, and he must be force-fed at least three potions…" Ulysses listened to the snappy physician ramble on. He seemed to have caught the most capable "doctor" in a bad mood.

"Aren't you supposed to be _Miracle_ Mitch?" he asked playfully. He gave a weary grin, folding his arms.

"Something this light does not merit a miracle," the older man grumbled, unamused. His oblong nose twitched as he hobbled away to the other room of his operational quarters. The must of a mystery potion bubbled from the far corner of the other room. The boy from the battlefield was lain on one of the uncomfortable wooden pallets when he was brought back by Ulysses, remaining sickly-looking. His breath came in short, soft puffs, and his eyes convulsed behind their lids. "I must say, though, that this is a somewhat strange case." He ran his calloused fingertips over the side of his face before he wandered over to a cabinet to find a relaxant for the restless patient.

Ulysses pursed his lip before grimly pushing himself away from the wall. The shadows under his eyes were deep and dark. Approaching the bed, he wondered, "Where are his parents?" Then, to no one in particular, "He's just the same age as Damien. They must be worried about him." The lantern light flickered gently, light dancing sporadically across the room. Mitch put a comforting hand on the man's shoulder.

"Don't be worried like that, kiddo. I'm a professional here," He pushed Ulysses out of the house gently. "Get out of here. Your son is waiting for you." Ulysses straightened as a young boy only as tall as his knee ran from the dormitories.

"Hey there, little champ," Ulysses lifted his son on to the crook of his elbow. Gleefully he petted the soft hair, which had been freshly washed in celebration of the hunt. "How's school?"

"Boring. Bad," Damien listed off at least ten more negative adjectives before Ulysses stopped him.

"You done anything with the axe?"

"The shitty shark wouldn't let me." Damien sniffed as he puffed his chest. At this Ulysses quirked a brow.

"Where did you learn to talk like that? Respect your elders; his name is Mordekai, and that's Mister Mordekai unless he says otherwise." Ulysses reprimanded, beginning the short walk back to the dorms. Thank whatever deity was watching over him that Mordekai was usually asleep by then, or else his sharp ears would pick up on their conversation.

"But Pops, he really is-"

"Damien."

"Fine."

"Promise?" Ulysses insisted, levelling the boy with a heavy stare.

"...no…" Damien trailed off, choosing to look at the moonlight-spattered sand instead of his father's face.

"Damien." Ulysses pinched the boy's cheek, eliciting an indignant shriek. They entered the dormitory. His son could be so stubborn.

"I promise."

"To what?"

"I promise to not call anyone a shitty shark,"

"And?" Damien was silent. "You won't curse again, will you?" They were standing outside the door, and Damien wanted to sleep. Despite convincing the dorm mother that he was _very _energetic (in a way that made her wince and retreat to her room) and set on awaiting his father's return from the Miracle Shack, the boy was tired. He was in his second year of schooling, after all. He needed his sleep as it came.

"...maybe." Ulysses' hand stilled. Damien still avoided the question. "Didn't you tell me not to make promises I can't keep?"

Ulysses sighed. "Will you at least try?"

"I can compromise." said Damien, a fox-like grin crawling on his face. "But only for a certain...price." He held up his hand, looking up at Ulysses through his arrogant eyes. Ulysses grimaced at the gesture, dropping Damien into one of two cots in the small room.

_Who the hell has he been hanging out with?What happened to my sweet, innocent boy?_ Settling a blanket over Damien, he tucked the boy in. "Good night, champ. Sweet dreams." Kissing his forehead, Ulysses moved to the other cot. He felt the stand dip considerably under his weight, but it had never collapsed, and wasn't about to. Damien's breathing had slowed, and Ulysses repeated the quiet prayer he said every night.

**(*)**

A woman in white, homely and nurturing, appeared in his dreams. She was thick but soft, in a motherly way. A boy was floating in darkness when her figure approached him. She cradled his face in her arms, bringing him into a warm hug. It felt nice. He closed his eyes, leaning into her touch. How long had it been? Was he still asleep or dead? The woman lifted his face, and placed a kiss on his forehead. Then she was gone, and everything was a dark sleep.

As he slowly awoke, there was a cheerful humming. Behind his stuck eyelids he saw a dim light burning unsteadily. _Where am I?_ The scent of sharp medicine aromatized the air unpleasantly, like vinegar. His drift back into consciousness did not go unnoticed by whichever presence had replaced the tribal healers. His eyes peeled open and immediately widened.

There, not two centimeters away, was an enormous, orange, cucumber-esque nose _hanging in his face._ It was wrinkly and gross.

"I see you're awake." He scanned the strange, ruddy face of the old man. Squinty, beady eyes on either side of the nose studied him from underneath caterpillar eyebrows. A thin mouth that was barely visible tightened. As he talked, the proboscis moved. Noticing the _rude_ staring, the creature snorted before pulling away.

"Wh-Where am I?" he asked.

"Miracle Mitch's Miracle Shack. Welcome, kid," he answered, critically eyeing the still roving gaze. "Surely you know who I am."

"Er. No, sorry," the boy stuttered, averting his gaze to the wall on his other side.

"Miracle Mitch."

"I...ah...see," he glanced back to the face, only to see past it. "That makes sense." There was a second-long pause.

"You can thank me now, you know."

"Er. Yeah. Um...Thanks. For…"

"Breaking your fever, sheltering you until you were well, and letting you sleep on my bed." The boy was beginning to understand that sleeping on Mitch's bed was not a huge favor given. It was more a loss than a gain. His tailbone was aching like there was no tomorrow.

"That, yes. Of course."

A couple of minutes of stuttering and Mitch was frustrated. What sort of blubbering idiot was this?

Mitch grumbled before stalking off.

**(*)**

"How're you feeling, buddy?" a man asked. He was corded with thick muscle, and a barely-there layer of blonde hair. _If his posture's anything to go by, then he's probably not a productive member of society_, the boy thought. Though upright and proud, there was an air about him that made him weary. Addressing him so familiarly, too.

"Buddy?"

"Sure."

"I'm fine, thank you, sir. Who are you?" The man blinked, then chuckled.

"Straight to the point, aren't you? I wouldn't blame you. Ulysses Spinnaker's my name." He stretched a hand towards the boy, who took it awkwardly.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mister Spinnaker." he annunciated carefully. He gave the hand a tentative shake before retracting his and laying it over his stomach. Noon light was breaking through the window. How long had he been asleep?

"You're very polite." Mitch snorted from where he was gathering jars from a shelf in another room. "I'm sure my son could learn a thing or two from you. He's about your age, I should think. What's your name?" There was a boy wandering around the room behind Ulysses. He neared a pot of a boiling green liquid. "Damien, come over here." The other boy obediently looked up before nearing the wooden pallet.

"I'm Isa-" he began before going into a coughing fit. Ulysses looked ready to get Mitch, but honestly, the boy didn't want to see the proboscis creature again. "Isaac." he continued, the words slipping through his lips like water. Ulysses lowered an eye to Isaac.

**(*)**

"Hey, I'll be your first friend, right? Isaac. Hey, are you listening to me?" Damien asked insistently. Isaac paused for a second, his hands stilling where they had been splitting blades of grass near the fountain.

"No. I've had _many_ friends before you, rest assured." he mumbled, looking back down at his lap. While Mr. Spinnaker discussed something with Mr. Mitch, Isaac was to wait outside with Damien. He busied himself with plucking more pieces of grass from the sandy soil.

The clothes that were given to him seemed to be hand-me-downs from the boy. They were much too big; the long sleeves hung over his thumbs and the shirt alone came halfway down his thigh. The pants had to be rolled five times at the waist to fit correctly, and the bottoms rolled twice. The boots were two sizes too large, and that made Isaac grumpy. A bobble hat shoved over his hair had to be taken off because it kept falling in his eyes.

It had taken some convincing to get Mitch to retrieve a brush from the attic, but Isaac had done it. The unruly hair that was sticking up in every way possible was now brushed into sleek black waves. However, when he had asked to take a bath, Mitch had scoffed and turned away, laughing under his breath.

"Well, I'm your brother anyway. I'm your best friend by default," He smiled cheekily.

"Being my brother doesn't automatically grant you a ticket onto the friendship boat." Isaac immediately replied, turning his head. He didn't feel guilty when Damien looked as if he had been thrown into the middle of a blizzard. Not at all.

"Oh, don't be cold! It does, it does. In fact, since I'm such a forgiving friend, I'll let you be my first mate when we grow up." he laughed, patting his 'brother' on the shoulder awkwardly. He still hadn't recovered from that verbal barb.

"Who decided we were brothers, anyway?" Isaac asked. He stood from the spot where he knelt and walked about the flagstones, observing the courtyard.

"Me. The moment Pops introduced us, you were auto-drafted into my family." he grinned.

"What if I don't want to be?"

"Doesn't matter if you don't wanna. Even if you run away, you'll always be my brother, so says me."

"That sounds creepy, to be honest." Isaac said, blinking at the suddenness of Damien's conclusion.

"No, it doesn't."

"It does."

"Does not."

"I'm not having this conversation." Isaac muttered as he wandered further. On the other side of the court was a man peddling something from a colorful cart. As he analyzed the man, the man stared down at him cryptically. Isaac found himself averting his eyes from the intimidating man. The courtyard was silent except for the gulls on the beach below. Damien, trailing behind him persistently, pouted as he tugged on Isaac's sleeve.

"C'mon Isaac, I know you wanna. Silence means you give up." Damien grinned cunningly.

"No."

"Fine then." Damien poked Isaac. Then poked him again. And again. And again, and again, and again. "I'm gonna keep bothering you until you call me 'brother.'"

"I _will_ beat you."

"You can't do that," Damien smirked. "Pops rescued you, so you can't beat me up."

"Watch me." Isaac brought a fist down on Damien, who eyed it readily, not flinching as it neared the tip of his nose. His arm paused when it was an inch away.

"Told'ja so." Damien's eyes twinkled playfully. He poked Isaac in the ribs and watched amusedly as he weasled away. "So, are we brothers or what?"

"What. Definitely what." Isaac gritted out. Annoyance crept into his voice.

"Aw. Bummer," Damien jabbed the pressure point in Isaac's neck.

"Brothers. Brothers. I give up already." Isaac winced. Damien's eyes sparkled as his face took on an expression of elation.

"I win, heheh! So where do you want to go first?"

"What do you mean?" Damien exhausted Isaac so much that he couldn't think of doing anything but sitting down. Alone, preferably. Why was this even such a big deal?

"Obviously I have to give you a tour."

"How about later?"

"You're not getting out of this one, Isaac!" _Will I ever get out of anything with you?_ he wondered. Even though he'd just met the boy, he could tell that he was persistence incarnate.

"Some place you're not."

"That's mean. Well, let's just sit in the court for now. Nothing exciting's going on anywhere, anyways." Damien sighed before leading the both of them back down to the fountain, where Isaac rested his head against the cool, wet stone. Damien studied Isaac's round, peaceful face as he breathed softly in a poor resemblance of sleep. "Why's your hair so long?"

One of Isaac's eyes, stormy with irritation, cracked open. "Because that's how I wear it."

"But it's so...girly."

"There's nothing girly about long hair." he shot back defensively. His eyebrows furrowed at the thought. _Was_ it girly? No one had ever said so.

"Boys, boys. I have a surprise!" announced a deep voice. Mr. Spinnaker, bounding up behind them and looking ridiculous, beamed at them. The intensity of his gaze made Isaac shudder in a vague fear of what this man had in store. Somehow, he resembled his son. The wariness must've been obvious for someone who looked as dense as Mr. Spinnaker to pick up on it; he aimed his smile directly at Isaac. "Don't worry, it's nothing bad!"

Isaac pursed his lips in suspicion.

"We're visiting the Buccaneer's Den!" he grinned.

**(*)**

The classroom was small and cramped with sharp-looking weapons. Axes crossed on the walls, curved swords hung proudly, daggers lying idly on tables or in the hands of adolescents, spears leaning against mysterious crates, round wooden shields with spikes hung on the scratched, curling wallpaper-the place had it all. The instructor, Mordekai, was a heavily built man. His body was corded with muscle, and his voice was low and gruff as he instructed the students, who looked to be a few years older than Isaac and Damien. His flat nose was perched on a face scarred to oblivion, and his dark hair was cropped high on his forehead. His teeth were almost shark-like, and his frame swayed with a fighters grace as he demonstrated. His jacket looked a size too small from the way it stretched across his shoulders.

Mr. Spinnaker beamed proudly as Mordekai took notice of them. "Nice to see you, old friend." he said, and the teacher's eyes narrowed playfully.

"I am your teacher," Mordekai replied, narrow eyes becoming friendly half-moons. "Not your friend. Good to see you, pup," He cast his eyes down on the two boys. "And how old are they?"

"Damien's nine, and…" he rubbed his chin. It was clear he'd forgotten the other boy's name. "_Isaac_ here is-how old are you, buddy?" he asked, bending over.

"Seven." Isaac answered.

"Isaac's seven." he repeated.

"Ah, not old enough yet, I see."

"Don't worry, they'll be all grown up before I know it," Mr. Spinnaker grumbled resignedly. "Damien's already got his axe ready and everything. He's ready for battle" he laughed.

"I saw yesterday. You shouldn't give kids weapons when they're so young, pup. They're starting earlier every decade already." Mordekai frowned critically. "Avery's wound up. He's really serious about this 'pirate democracy,' or whatever he calls it."

"Well, with the Armada going at the rate it has, there's not much we can do _but_ start early," Mr. Spinnaker sighed. "But that's aside from the point. Damien wanted to see the classroom while you were instructing."

"Of course," Mordekai knelt on one knee before Damien and Isaac. "You seek to learn? All I know is fighting."

Damien nodded eagerly as Mordekai spoke, but Isaac looked past Mordekai's thick shoulder into the actual instruction room. There were six students inside, each looking bored and tired. One looked back at Isaac and grinned, waving a hand. However, in his hand was a sword, which waved with his hand. His neighbor, who was standing unfortunately close, was tapped on the head by the broad side of the sword and shrieked.

"Are you trying to kill me?" he squealed, voice still a little high.

"Whoops, my bad. You alright?" the still-smiling boy asked, patting his friend on the shoulder. His friend slapped his hand away irately, grumbling angrily.

"Eliezer, Benjamin. What seems to be the problem?" Mordekai growled, turning sharply back to his students. They stiffened immediately, standing ramrod straight at the burly man's attention. Mr. Spinnaker hid a chuckle behind a hand.

"Nothing, sir." gritted the still-angry boy. He slapped his friend's back and turned back to his practice dummy. "We're all pals in the Den." As soon as Mordekai turned back with an stifled groan at the fluffy phrase, the grin fell from the waver's face. He hunched over and held his arms to his upper back, shooting an indignant glare at the other.

**(*)**

"Wasn't that fun?" Ulysses asked, steering Damien and Isaac back into a building across from the Buccaneer's Den. A swinging wooden sign painted with a cozy-looking bed hung above the doorway. The sand was purpley-white under the moon. The air was calmer than in the day; it was cooler, stiller. After the students had filed out at sunset, the teacher and father spoke for a lengthy amount of time, and when they were finally done, the trio walked hushedly to the building across the court.

"He was a lot cooler than he was yesterday!" Damien yelled, tugging on his father's pants. "Hey Isaac! We'll be learning there soon!"

"Oh. That's...interesting." Isaac said.

"Gee, you don't have to sound so excited." Ulysses replied, squeezing Isaac's shoulder playfully. His eyes twinkled and Isaac looked at the ground. Standing around and learning how to hold and fight with a sword didn't sound that interesting to him. Even as strict and blatantly _rude_ as Professor Drake was, he'd prefer lessons in Myth to lessons with a sword and shield.

Damien rounded on him, hands on his hips. "You can't not be excited about lessons! That's the border between boy and man!"

"That's right, Isaac!" Ulysses grinned, mussing his hair. "Listen to your brother."

"It's the border between Boy and slightly older, stronger Boy." Isaac shot back. He was bored and irritated inside the Den, and now this? After leaving the fighters' school, Mr. Spinnaker demanded to be called 'Papa' the same way Damien demanded to be called 'Brother.'

The father's eyes darted between them, amused and concerned at the same time. Isaac hadn't denied his brotherhood, though that was probably out of exasperation rather than acceptance. One large hand yanked the door open, pulling it from the stuck door frame. Down the sand-floored hallways, all the doors were shut in an eerie, abandoned quiet. Damien reached up and tugged the man's arm. Ulysses hoisted the boy into a one-arm cradle with a gentle smile. Then he glanced at Isaac. He was starting to look sleepy.

"C'mon," he said, holding out one hand. Isaac looked at it blearily. _Probably tired out from all that arguing._

"Wha'?"

"Grab it." Isaac looked at him dubiously before tentatively placing his small hand in the man's.

"Up we go." Ulysses snickered, pulling the other boy into his other arm. Damien shifted and giggled at Isaac's shocked face.

"Don't manhandle me…" he muttered even as he shifted closer to the warmth of his body.

"Light as a feather, you are." Ulysses smiled, ignoring the comment. Isaac's nose twitched as he fell asleep, Damien soon following. When he reached their room near the end of the hall, he eased it open with a soft squeak. He gently put Isaac and Damien in one of two hammocks hung in the room and moved towards a desk under the window. As soon as they were asleep, he lit a soft candle. The moonlight wasn't bright enough to read under.

However, as soon as he cracked open the thick, leather-bound journal, he became aware of another presence in the room. Heavy, guttural breathing echoed off the walls. Turning slowly, he came face-to-face with an dark green shoulder.

"What...who are you?" Ulysses slowly asked, eyes roving a tall, poorly dressed, hunched figure.

"Troll." was the simple answer he got. The ogre turned back, dismissing Ulysses for something else. When he followed the gaze, Ulysses jumped, his chair hitting the creature's hip with a loud thud. He ran in front of the ogre, throwing his arms out in front of the children's hammock.

"Get away from my son." Ulysses snarled. Curse the sword resting on the other side of the room, by his own hammock. The troll's face was a grotesque green slathered in oil and stringy hair stuck up from a few spots of the porous skin. A severe underbite revealed small, pointed teeth, some sticking out over its thick upper lip. The forehead stretched over half its face, and its yellow eyes narrowed at Ulysses' interference. It was clad only in an over-the shoulder tattered tunic. At least one head taller, the troll cut an imposing figure. In one hand was a spiked club.

"Puny human," the troll said, not bothering to lower his gravelly, bass voice. A hand larger than his face pushed him away. "Master need me."

"Go to your master, then. Stay away from the kids." He crowded closer to the troll. _Step back._

"Move, human," the troll said irately. "Master not want me use violence, but I happy use violence," the troll threatened, pushing Ulysses aside effortlessly before plucking one of the children from the hammock by the back of his shirt-Isaac. Blinking sleepily, the boy yawned before opening his eyes.

"Oh, Yolik. It's just you." he mumbles before falling back asleep. Ulysses, wide-eyed, hurriedly yells for Isaac to wake up.

**((*))**

Cyrus Drake was not happy. Not that he ever was. But especially in that moment, he was displeased. While on a mission, one of his younger students had managed to get lost. The boy's student teacher, who was supposed to monitor the boy on the mission, claimed that while in battle, the boy had teleported away without rhyme or reason, but Cyrus knew better. The monitor had been lazing around and lost track of the boy.

"What is your name, boy?" he spat.

"Joaquim, sir! Sorry, sir!" the boy said, fidgeting in the desk. The classroom was empty except for he and the instructor. Cyrus, standing imposingly in front of him, clicked his tongue.

"Apology not accepted. _I_ will be the one who has to answer for _your _mistakes. Obviously, there will be repercussions." he growled.

"Of course, sir!"

"Oh, shut up." Cyrus shot back, disgusted at the negligence of the alumni.

**((*))**

"So this is Yolik." Isaac said, patting the now-calm troll's bicep pleasantly. They leaned against each other like old friends.

Nodding, Isaac's eyes began to droop again. The troll shot Ulysses a glare, awkwardly rubbing the boy's back. Damien was miraculously sound asleep, having shifted away as far as possible in a hammock as possible (which was not very far, according to gravity).

"And you summoned him?"

Isaac looked bored. "It would be sad if I couldn't." He leaned onto the troll.

Ulysses put his head in his hands.

"I think I need to see Mitch. And after that, we'll go see Vadima. She knows a lot about wizards."

"Who's she?"

"She teaches aspiring witch doctors."

"Underground wizards?" Isaac yawned, raising a brow. His hands drummed lazily where the rested on the rotted floorboards.

"Never say that in front of Vadima. She gets very angry." Ulysses returned slowly. Sternly, patted Isaac's shoulder.

"Alright." Isaac mumbled. His head was beginning to loll.

"Go to sleep, champ. We'll talk more tomorrow."

**(((-)))**

**A/N: So this is my first (published) fanfiction. I'm not that confident in my writing as it seems to drone instead of jump, but it'll have to do for now. After all, I've already written most of the plot...orz. If you have any advice/feedback (longer/shorter, more details, less details, etc. etc.), feel free to leave a review, or just favorite/follow to show your support!**

**Also...I have no idea how to write families. Whoops...**

**Additionally, note that this will VERY VAGUELY follow the main storyline of P101-as in, some plot points are mentioned, but the story doesn't revolve around it. **

**Oh yeah, Ulysses is kind of an asshole when he's not being a good Dad :P But he'll (probably) get better.**

**Thanks for reading!**


	2. the witch doctor

**chapter 2: the witch doctor**

**(((-)))**

Vadima was, to put it bluntly, bored with her job. Pirates were _so_ much less dynamic than wizards. She took comfort in the fact that she was able to open a magic school, but she knew was sub par at best. Wizards were somehow much stronger than pirates; she could only hope it wasn't her teaching that made them inferior.

She was spying on Ravenwood students (as she usually did in her free time) in her crystal ball when a well-known buccaneer, renowned for his cookie-cutter pirating ways, stepped onto the wet rug at the entrance to her cave with a small child.

Not turning or even twitching to acknowledge him, she set about mashing ingredients in a small pot and quickly dismissing the image of three wizards battling a gang of crabs. The idiot man-child was out of her cave gathering ingredients for once in his life, and she wanted to relish the peace. However, fate seemed to hate her. Cursing the spirits for their bitterness, she channeled her anger into her mashing, making the loose bangles on her wrist chatter loudly as she imagined pirates under her hand instead of ingredients.

"Vadima, there's a wizard here…" Ulysses said, sighing. The woman immediately slammed the wooden bowl down, and Ulysses faintly heard the wood split. She whipped around, a purple-lipstick smile gracing her smooth, mocha face. Her curly black hair bounced behind her as every piece of gold jewelry on her person seemed to sway with a new energy. She even graciously dismissed the mumbled 'wizard-obsessed freak' emitted by the idiot mutineer.

As she rushed over to the child, still completely ignoring the _other_, questions tumbled from her mouth: what class are you? what's your favorite spell? what have you learned? what tier are you? It was hard to understand the questions around her thick, excited accent. The poor child looked overwhelmed, face screwing up into a tight, perplexed wince. Vadima squished his cheeks adoringly, then his hands. "Ohhh, you are so cute! Ugh, all these rough and tough pirates must have been exhausting! I know they have that effect on me!" she said, rubbing her cheek against the child's. Now the boy looked practically _terrified_.

"Vadima, neither of us knows how he got here," Ulysses said, ignoring her antics and continuing to explain the problem. He knew somewhere in the back of her mind, she was (probably) listening. "He says he doesn't remember." Vadima glared at the man before pulling the kid closer.

"Poor, poor, cute boy, drugged and abducted by nasty old pirates…" she pouted, squeezing Isaac.

"That is not what happened, Miss Vadima." Isaac muttered. She turned her attention back to him. "I think I was force-teleported here." he added. Vadima frowned. Force-teleportation was forbidden for everyone in Ravenswood except the instructors and Ambrose, and even then it was to be used sparingly.

"Do you have any idea why someone would want to force-teleport you?" she asked, bringing her face down to the boy's eye level. "What were you doing"

"N-no. I do not think so. And I was finishing up a quest. I'd just finished a battle." he said.

"Well, what is done is done. Let us see what we can do. I am Vadima, and I teach aspiring witchdoctors. You may call me Madame." she said, an elegant quality that had been absent since she heard the word 'wizard' appearing. She was tall and lanky, coming up to Ulysses' chin (including her hair). As she moved towards shelves stocked with labelled jars, Isaac noticed that her movements were serpentine, lithe and smooth. Long fingernails dragged across the stickers peeling from the jars. She glided to a stop in front of a blue-tinted jar. "This might be risky…" she muttered to herself, drumming her fingers on the glass.

"Vadima, what's that?" Ulysses asked slowly.

"Ghost fog. It's used for spells involving the past. However, it can be detrimental if used incorrectly," she said, her gaze continuing down the aisle. "Ah, but I suppose it will do. I am an expert, after all." she said smoothly, plucking the jar from the shelf.

"What do you need to do?" Isaac asked suspiciously.

"Oh, just get a glimpse of your memories from the last week or so." she said. She began drawing dubious circles in green chalk. She smoothed down the curls that fell in her face as she led Isaac to the center. The wide red scarf holding all of her hair out of her face appeared to fail under the weight of her abundant curls.

"Vadima, are you sure this is safe?" Ulysses was worried that the woman would kill the boy he'd only just gotten to join his family.

"Of course. Would you doubt me?" she asked, raising a brow. Her hips swayed as she continued to prepare for the ritual. "You need to leave. This is dangerous when other people distract the memory extraction."

"Fine," he said. To Isaac, he said, "I'll be outside the cave. Come get me when you're done, and we'll talk over it." At the boy's stiff nod, he strode out.

"Alright. Now that he's gone…" Vadima pressed her hands to his temples. He closed his eyes, wondering what sensation the session would bring.

The witch doctor began to hum low under her breath, gaining volume over the course of a few seconds. After the gradual crescendo, she was silent. Her lips moved, but no words exited her mouth. A flash of purple light startled Isaac enough to twitch, but Madame Vadima's hands held him firmly in place. When he glanced up, her green eyes were glowing softly, and her pupils were white. The dot tattoos that lined her brow seemed to darken.

As sudden as it began, it ended. She removed her hands slowly. Her hands trembled before she tucked them behind her back. "Well, you are certainly a mysterious child. I can see everything except how you got here. Not even your third eye witnessed any visions before you were in the jungle," she said, stroking a drop of sweat from her forehead. "Go retrieve the rogue."

By the end of the ordeal, they knew little more of Isaac's circumstance than they did coming in. Though she didn't show it on the surface, Ulysses knew his long-time friend was frustrated.

**(*)**

On the word breakfast, Damien shot up from the hammock, effectively landing himself on the floor. Ulysses laughed as he pulled his son from the floor and outside, where Isaac leaned against the wall near the door impatiently. Before buying breakfast, Ulysses went to the outfitter and bought the boy a sleeveless white shirt and loose, striped pants. However, the boy refused to sell the clothes he'd been found in despite the shop-owner's saying it would fetch Ulysses a 'pretty penny' as he ignored Isaac.

The sketchy looking shack they entered afterwards turned out to be a small take-out restaurant. The food that they got didn't look very appetizing, but Damien was drooling over it while Isaac eyed it warily.

Ulysses walked the two back down to the beach, nearly panicking when Damien fell off the staircase when trying to slide down a _stone_ hand support. Luckily, some plants had absorbed most of the shock for him. Laying out a blanket on a patch of grass near the waterfall, the father watched as the two bickered when arranging food on the blanket.

"Your reflexes are _really _slow, Isaac! I don't know how you'll make it through training!" Damien laughed. When Isaac pouted, he patted his back. "But I'll be your partner, so you don't have to worry about embarrassing yourself in front of our classmates." Isaac scowled even deeper at this.

"I would not embarrass myself. If anything, you would be the one embarrassing yourself." he snapped.

"Now, now," Ulysses interrupted sternly. "_Neither _of you will embarrass yourselves if you work hard to improve. Then you'll both become the best pirates in history, right?" he grinned. Damien nodded eagerly, while Isaac looked away.

"I'll _never _be a pirate," he argued. "I'm gonna be an _Exalted._" he said.

"Egg salted..." Damien repeated questioningly. "Why?"

"Exalted means respected and admired," Ulysses answered. "It's the highest ranking of a wizard-an exalted wizard." Damien giggled at that.

"Why'd you wanna be a stinky wizard?" he guffawed.

"I _am_ a wizard." Isaac snapped heatedly. "And I'm the best in my class."

"Prove it." Damien smirked.

"Fine. I _will_." Isaac said. With his finger outstretched he drew one of the symbols driven into his mind since the beginning of his education. As he reached to finalize the image with the intention to summon, there was a flash, and ash floated to the ground quietly. Damien's look of growing awe exploded into laughter which shadowed some disappointment. "We should not fight while eating," Isaac said quietly, defeated. He stuffed food in his mouth.

"Those were some cool circus tricks, Isaac," Damien smirked at the face the younger made. Isaac bitterly stuffed a sandwich into his mouth. "I almost believed you, there for a second," he continued. Isaac's fingers twitched irritably. "But it was pretty. You could do it again for me, sometime."

By the end of lunch, Damien's comments died down. The trio fell to a silence permeated only by the crunch of paper wrappers being opened.

"Where's your parents?" Damien asked, suddenly curious.

"Back at the house, probably. We do not bother about each other." Isaac said. Ulysses spared a glance for the impassive face. He'd said it as if it was something normal.

Later that day, Ulysses bought Isaac a hammock and a small pocket knife (to Isaac's shock and displeasure) as homewarming gifts. It looked like he might stay a while.

**((*))**

"Where is my son, Cyrus?" asked the irate woman, slamming her palms onto the table. Her full figure was leaning over the teacher's desk aggressively.

"Like I have clearly stated before, he is at an unknown location. However, I'm sure he was in Azteca when he disappeared, if that would aid you in your search at all." Cyrus replied, sighing for the millionth time that day.

"_Azteca_? What are you _thinking_, sending a 7-year-old to that sort of place?" the lean man behind her asked.

"He is a prodigious child. He has been helpful in aiding the headmaster and building bonds between Wizard City, and more specifically Ravenswood, and other worlds." Cyrus decided not to mention that the child had already begun traversing across Khrysalis. Honestly, he was at a loss for what to do. He'd already scanned the area where the boy had been seen by locals.

"Well, _Professor Drake_, I'm sure that word of your irresponsibility will spread when I-we-organize a search party." said the woman.

"I'm sure," Cyrus responded coolly. "Now, I'm sure you need to hurry to that search party of yours."

When the door slammed shut, he leaned back in his uncomfortable wooden desk chair. It had been a _long_ day.

**((*))**

Isaac looked out the window unhappily as Damien met with his friends in front of the Den. They all looked kinda strong. Stronger than him, anyway. But then again, they were all older than him. As he was watching, Ulysses opened the door. He yanked his shoes off and tossed them by the hammock, where they lay pathetically. His brow was furrowed and his face red.

"What's wrong?" he asked. The man threw a glare at him before sighing.

"Just some troublesome clients," he said. He turned away, throwing his jacket over the thin coat tree. "I told 'em to wait, but they went ahead with the operation anyway. And who gets the blame? Me. Of course," he scoffed. Ulysses had left after he took Damien and Isaac back to the cabin. He was in a rather merry mood, saying he had to run a few errands when the door shut. "It was their own fault that the idiots died. A damn shame, I tell you. A damn shame. Those kids had potential. And of course my crew decides to step in and the morons decide that I should pay for their losses." Ulysses growled, scowl deepening. Collapsing on his hammock, Ulysses sighed.

"What were you supposed to do?" Isaac asked as he straightened the coat and righted the boots.

"Get revenge on some Monquistian Lord. I don't know. I don't give a fuck," Ulysses said, turning away. After a pause, he said, "Sorry."

"That's fine." Isaac said, filing this away as a reminder not to anger his foster-father. Even so, Ulysses seemed like a family man.

"Kid, you ever been frustrated?"

"Yes." Isaac said. "Many a time."

"You talk like a geezer."

"I speak respectfully." Isaac corrected, pulling out a book he'd bought from a vendor with the small amount of money Ulysses left when he went out. The vendor had been pleasantly surprised, saying that not many kids bought books, just sold the ones they found or burned them.

"What's that?" Ulysses asked.

"'The Complete History of the Underground: Edition Fourteen.'" Isaac answered. The book was a thick book, leather bindings wearing around the corners and dust collecting on the spine.

"That money was supposed to be for _lunch,_ you munchkin. Do you like history?" Ulysses asked, suddenly fascinated.

"No, but I would like to know about this...world." he said. "I am surprised they would write it down."

"That book's only the tip of the iceberg, buddy. Written by hoity-toity scholars in the high ranks about ten years ago. While they were writing the Twentieth Edition, they disappeared, all of them within a month."

"I see." Isaac said.

"Hey, turn to Chapter Forty Two." Ulysses suddenly commanded.

"Why?"

"Just do it."

Looking at the table of contents for the page number, Isaac pulled a thick stack of pages to the side and continued to flick to the ominous Chapter Forty Two. Finding the page, he stared blankly at the wall of text. "Should I read the whole thing?" he asked, flipping through ten pages. One page was a full-body picture of a famous Captain. "Hey…" he said, suddenly realizing who the Captain was. "This is you!"

"I was quite the looker in my glory days. Don't you think?" At the bottom of the portrait was a messy signature and a date that went back almost thirty years before. In the caption beneath, 'Captain Ulysses J. Spinnaker, Bondbreaker. This ink portrait was drawn by his wife, Elise, a week before their marriage.'

"What's 'bondbreaker'?" Isaac asked, brow furrowed.

"I was quite the mutineer back then. Hailed and hated all at the same time," he answered smugly. "Most of my crew is just people I've helped out way back when. Most of 'em didn't even like me when we met."

"Why?" Isaac asked. This man…

"According to certain sources, I'm not exactly a likable person. Too energetic or something like that."

"No, why were you a mutineer?"

"Well, because I committed mutiny." Ulysses grinned easily.

"But why did you commit mutiny?" Isaac persisted. He would not let this lie.

"Because what they wanted was wrong," he replied. "My motives were way better, I think." Laying in the hammock, the afternoon sun lit a strip under the window, separating the two sides of the room.

Isaac read an excerpt from the Chapter. "Captain Ulysses Spinnaker was a man of many talents. He was originally the first-mate the Leigh crew, like his father. Traditionally, the loyalty of the Spinnaker clan was solely given to the Leigh family, who bred Captains from birth. An oath that went back several generations prevented the Spinnakers from detachment. However, in a mission to kidnap a Princess to give over to a power-hungry duke, Ulysses took a different path. Betraying the Oath of Bloods' Loyalty, he rescued the Princess back to the Kingdom. As a reward to the man, the Queen proposed marriage between the two, which Ulysses turned down as he was already wed.'"

Ulysses was smirking by this point. "That girl was pretty eager for the marriage too. But she was only fifteen, so I turned her down."

"How old were you?" Isaac asked.

"Twenty six." Ulysses replied. "Oh, how the years have gone," he added despondently. "I started a fad, you know. Of mutiny and betrayal." he said. Ulysses sounded far to proud of himself, but these _were_ pirates.

There were a few moments of silence as Isaac flipped back to Chapter Two and Ulysses breathed softly in an imitation of a nap.

The door slammed open, hitting the wall with a dull thud. A dirty and grass-stained Damien stomped in happily, Pulling his boots off and setting them near the hammock Isaac was reading in. Behind him, several footsteps thundered in. Four boys who looked about Damien's age were fast on his heels. When they spotted Isaac, they crowded around him.

"Is this him?" one of them asked excitedly. He sported several bandages on his body, and his messy blond hair was pulled back with some dirty string. His hand was settled on Isaac's shoulder.

"Yup. This is my new little brother. His name's 'Isaac,' like I said. Hey Dad, do you figure out where he came from?"

"Nope." Ulysses lied. A chorus of 'hey Mr. Spinnaker's rang around the room as they noticed the man lounging before all attention was once again directed at Isaac, who glared at Damien for bringing such chaos home.

After light banter with his father, Damien turned back. "Isaac, these're my friends. If you're in trouble and I'm not there, you can go to them. That's Joshua, that's Reigen, that's Daniel, and that's Eliezer." Isaac didn't bother trying to keep up. All he knew was that the blond one was Reigen. Well, he'd figure it out eventually.

**(*)**

Living with the Spinnakers fell into a routine. Wake up, say goodbye to Ulysses, read for most of the day, greet Damien and his friends when they stopped by after school, sleep. Weeks passed like that. Much to Damien's chagrin, Isaac was enrolled in Vadima's class (though he wouldn't start until a few years later) since Ulysses decided that as a Wizard, it would be most within his comfort zone. Avery was not at all similar to Merle except that they were both gray in the head and somewhat bony. He didn't seem like an honest leader.

Because it was clear that Isaac was far beyond a top-notch witch doctor's level, Vadima had to teach him how to perform basic spells, explaining that witch doctors' spells got stronger with time unlike wizards' spells. Of course, she ingrained in him that he must learn to start spells weak to avoid the suspicion of Avery, who would likely use him for something silly.

Finding solace in the sanctity of Bestia's courtyard, he watched the toga-sporting men and women meander. Everyone looked so sharp and elegant in Bestia, unlike _everyone _on Skull Island.

By the time Damien started classes, he had gained a wider circle of friends, most of whom ignored Isaac when Damien made him tag along to their little gatherings. Only the original four friends talked to him, and a handful of the older ones acknowledged his presence. People mostly tolerated him because Damien claimed him as his first-mate, saying something along the lines of 'he has to because he's my cute little brother' or something like that. It's not like they were mean to him, and Isaac was used to being alone anyways.

Occasionally, when he was in a deserted area and everyone was either inside the classroom or messing around with their friends in some bar (which 9 year olds went in _bars?_), he'd summon someone to talk to, but they either grunted or hissed at him most of the time. Ulysses was busy with missions and left lunch money on most days.

On one particular day, he was wandering about the uninhabited parts of the jungle, looking for a place to summon Medusa. Upon reaching a clearing, he drew the symbol in the air, The air crackled as the ground split, echoing off the canopy for a second. From the ground, Medusa arose with a hiss. She seemed tired of not fighting, restless. She lay in a heap, her head resting on Isaac's lap. Her twin cutlasses lay idly by her coiled body, ribbons tied around the handles.

They were both relaxed. Isaac was under the shade of one of the tall trees. He couldn't bring himself to care that his foot was getting soaked in mud. It seemed so familiar: the sun behind the leaves, glittering. His eyes drifted closed. He could take a short nap, he supposed. Glancing at Medusa, he found she was looking up at him. She hissed softly. _I'll protect you, _she seemed to say. Well, as long as he was back by the time his father returned.

Drifting to sleep, he dreamt of the natives who'd taken care of him. From what he'd heard, Ulysses and the pirates had pretty much slaughtered the 'Troggies,' as they were called. Apparently, they had been actively attacking the island,which categorized them as 'deserving' of the battle. He felt bad for them, though. They only wanted to keep their territory, and they'd been the ones to find him and take care of him.

As he slept, Medusa watched. She felt the approaching footsteps of someone. A woman, about the height of her wizard, The woman's large, unblinking eyes grew even wider when she saw Medusa, arms dropping a basket into the mossy ground. All she wore was a handwoven dress decorated with various leaves and moss. She wanted to run, but Medusa paralyzed her with one glance. Slithering closer, she was about to strike the woman, but her wizard's voice stopped her.

He was approaching them now with sleepy footsteps. The woman's eyes darted between Medusa and the boy before finally coming to rest on Isaac's face.

"She's a friend," Isaac said. Medusa lifted the paralysis, and the woman fell to her knees before the boy. Approaching her, he offered a hand up. However, the lady, terrified out of her wits, shrunk away. Sighing, Isaac stood. "Thank you for before. I'm sorry about your village, and I'll do whatever I can to help." The woman regarded him suspiciously before standing.

"Glad you're okay, little brother," she said shortly. She sat in the moss. "Your pet snake gave me quite the fright there. Last time I saw one of them's on the skyway."

"I'm sorry about her behavior," Isaac said. "She's sorry, too. See?" He motioned to Medusa, who only turned her head. "Well, you can't see it on the outside. But she's at least a little bit sorry." Isaac scratched the back of his head.

"How'd you tame her?" asked the native.

"Oh, I did not tame her. She is not my pet."

"Then why is she travelling with you?"

"Well, she is my friend." he replied.

The woman's laughter sounded like crackling fire. "You and her?" He nodded. "Oh God, that's too funny."

**(*)**

Daniel had only just split up with the other four when he tripped. That made five times today, at least. His face was planted firmly in the moss, and when he lifted it, he noted the impression of his face in the ground as a landmark. He needed to collect at least five baskets of fallen tree bark. They weren't allowed to peel it off trees because the Troggies would certainly take notice.

So far, he'd only found two and a half pounds of the stuff, and he already hated the scent-it smelled like the bottom of his Mom's foot and vanilla all in one. The contradiction was too much for his nostrils. He'd taken to breathing out of his mouth and following no path in particular.

The few trees that shed this specific bark were few and far between, making traversing the jungle a very difficult and unhappy experience. The stupid man who'd assigned the task wasn't that pleasant, either.

He ignored the sweat dripping down his neck. He couldn't wait to get out of this godforsaken jungle.

"-my friend." came a familiar voice, far to his left. He dismissed it as a heat illusion, but then a bark of laughter interrupted it.

"You and her? Oh God, that's too funny." said a different, unfamiliar voice. There was a loud hiss, as well as a yelp. "Geez, I didn't mean anything by it. Stupid snake-woman." The distinctive troggy accent in the high-pitched voice bothered Daniel.

"Fighting unnecessarily is unbecoming." said that stupidly formal voice. Daniel immediately placed the voice with a face. Isaac was out there, with a snake, and what's more-a Troggy. He was in danger.

He lingered in the brush, trying to get a better look. Next to the Troggy woman stood 11-year-old Isaac, and next to him, a snake woman, who turned as soon as his gaze landed on her.

She gave a warning hiss, and Isaac turned. Slowly, he approached the approximate area where Daniel was hiding.

"Hello?" he called out. _No enemy would just respond! _Daniel almost yelled, but he couldn't move his lips. Isaac came closer, creeping by. The woman was approaching seriously. The snake lady stared directly at him, levelling him with an intimidating glower.

Finally Isaac saw him and brushed aside the leaves.

"I will take care of our intruder." said the Troggy woman. "You go." she ordered.

"Wait, but I-" Isaac started but he was silenced with a hand.

"This is _our_ territory first of all," she said. "And I'm actually supposed to be patrolling."

"Well, alright." Isaac said. As he started to walk away Medusa slithered back into the crack she came from. The ground trembled as it closed again, leaving both the guide and Daniel confused and disoriented. However, now that the snake was gone, Daniel could move again, and if there was anything he was experienced in, it was the art of escape.

**(*)**

The rest of the week was as uneventful as possible. At the beginning Damien and his friends all asked very vague questions and watching him like hawks, but that faded after a couple of days. They were strange people, Isaac concluded, since he hadn't found the reason for their behavior. He hadn't had the chance to summon anything. He was at Chapter Twenty four, but couldn't bring himself to continue. It seemed like the pirate world was a continuous cycle of fighting, betrayal, antiheroes, and corruption.

Briefly he became interested in a section about a wizard who became a swashbuckler, but that interest was immediately squashed when the wizard died at the hands of arrogance.

He wandered out on the beach, looking for prospective places of interest. The drone of drunkards hanging around a brawling house and waiting for the tavern to open was an unwelcome but usual sight. As he passed, he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder. Staring incredulously at the blond hairs crossing the broad back of the leathery knuckles, he turned to see none other than Prospector Zeke. As usual, he seemed to be everywhere at once.

"Say, you're kicking up quite a fuss back in Wizard City. Your parents are worried about you."

"I can take care of myself." was Isaac's clipped response. Zeke frowned.

"Kid, you've been many places, you're intelligent, and you're strong. I don't think you're prepared for this world, and this world certainly isn't prepared for you." To a seven year old boy, this sounded more like a challenge than a warning.

"I am sure I will be fine. I remain unrecognized so far." he said.

"What about the search party scouring Azteca?" Zeke asked, raising an eyebrow. His voice lowered on the last word, though it was unneeded with all the unheeding, careless men shouting. "Your parents _are_ worried, no matter how much you loathe to admit it."

"Even if they are worried, " Isaac said. "They should know better than that."

"Better than what?"

"Trying to take care of me." Isaac said simply. He'd been on his own for a while now, so they should know that he was self-reliant. They couldn't cage him. Even if he did want to return, he didn't want the fanfare that would give his parents an excuse to throw a party. Zeke sighed.

"Well, if you need a ride back, me cargo ship's always ready." he said finally, turning away as a dismissal.

"Of course. Thank you." With that, Isaac continued searching. There was no way he would go on a ship probably loaded with smelly animals.

**(*)**

He was only wandering into the back of a cave when he found a group of older kids, yelling about something or another. They were crowded around something, making a racket in front of the entrance to an old mine. There was a heavy thudding at the center, but the group was so thick that he couldn't see what was going on in the inner circles.

As he was walking towards the mine, not minding the others at all, he heard a voice that was out of place.

"S-stop it!" a child cried cried. Turning with wide eyes, Isaac saw that between the legs, a kid that looked around seven was trying to crawl through the crowd. The crowd was thinner on this side, though not by much.

"Get back here, you brat!" said a boy. His face was red with exertion but he was grinning sadistically. _Oh, so that's what's going on_. Isaac tried to blend in with the crowd, but it was nigh impossible with his height. However, as he weaved his way through, he found his size was not all that disadvantageous. Subtly he tugged on the boy's shoulder. He couldn't see his face, only the dark blue rags stained in some places and a full head of coffee-colored hair. When the boy didn't budge, Isaac looked back at the crowd reproachfully. Some boys were smirking maniacally at him, others behind them scowling.

"Come to help that trash?"

"Yes." Isaac said slowly, stepping as protectively in front of the boy as possible when surrounded. _I might have to summon something._

"Get the hell out of here. We don't have time for you." the circle tightened, each person taking a step closer in case he needed any 'help' leaving.

"I can't. This person is my friend." Isaac said desperately, but he was sure it ws clear on his face that he was grasping at straws. Most of the dogs snickered.

"Oh really? You'd be friends with _that _loser?" asked the leader. His grin twitched.

"There's no reason to hate him." Isaac replied. _Is there? _

"Looks like we have time for you after all." one of them said, glancing at an imaginary watch. However, as soon as he took a step towards Isaac and the fallen boy, who looked about to faint, he was interrupted.

"_No_, it's obviously in here, since there is _no other place _it could _possibly be._" said one cracking, puberty-ridden voice. It could be said that this occurrence was a coincidence, but Isaac felt this was a miracle given by some merciful fate. Damien entered airily, followed closely by Joshua, who looked absolutely livid, Reigen, Daniel, and Eliezer. As soon as they entered, there was a pause.

"What's goin' on in here?" Reigen asked cautiously. They hadn't seen Isaac yet. People were outright laughing at the boys, who at their age were becoming gangly-their feet and arms growing before the rest of their body, their faces dotted with pimples, and their ridiculous sounding voices.

"Just taking care of business. Geez, so many little kids running around." One of the lackeys said, snickering. His friend hit him over the head. Isaac intensified his stare, hoping one of them would notice him already. It seemed his prayer had been met when Eliezer and he made eye contact.

"Oi, Damien, your brother's here." he said, and Damien eagerly snapped his head in the direction Eliezer had gestured Immediately he sliced through the crowd (a few tried to stop him to no avail) and lifted Isaac off the ground in a giant hug. Isaac could feel the air leave his lungs before his brother put him down. His older brother was really sweaty, as if he'd been running around all afternoon. The boy behind him looked unsure of what to make of the action, but Damien just grinned down at him the way he grinned at Isaac when they first met, though on a slightly more mature face.

"Are you Isaac's friend?" he asked. Damien's friends had drifted through the crowd to stand behind his brother. It would be slightly intimidating if he had not known them for a few years. The boy, on the other hand, looked absolutely terrified.

"He is." Isaac answered for him. Even though he had a few friends, he didn't meet with them often, and Damien didn't know them. He could tell his brother wanted to meet one of his friends, but couldn't bare to lose a friend to his upbeat brother. People seemed to subconsciously compare the two, and usually ended up turning to Damien.

"Nice to see ya, man. I'm his older brother, Damien. I'm sure you've heard about me, right?" he asked. Even in the midst of all these predatory but perplexed gazes, Damien could make a scene domestic.

The boy stuck out a shaky hand to meet Damien's firm one. Damien pumped his arm up and down, making the other flop a little bit. isaac barely suppressed a snicker. The crowd eventually dispersed, quickly becoming disinterested by the initial goal. There were too many people to fully enjoy the experience, anyways.

As most people walked out of the cave in annoyance, a handful stayed, glaring at the gaggle of people crowded around their earlier victim.

"Fucking brats ruined it," One of them spat in the sand. "We might need to see to their punishment."

**(((-)))**

**A/N: I literally cannot right now. I'm so tired ****༼≖****ɷ≖****༽**

**Thanks for reviewing, iiiEatPandaBear! It made me really happy.**

**EDIT 7/20/2014: fixed some things; made it slightly more interesting to read. For those of you who read the A/N before, my sister is no longer beta-ing this because she's...busy, I guess? I don't know. She never works on it. So I'll be doing the editing.**

**So this is the second chapter, aka side character bgs and some really crappy attempts at a daily life scenario. ;u;**

**The third chapter should be up later this week. I think I'm going to take a small break and write all the chapters for the first arc so I don't have to worry about frequent updating for a while.**


	3. little mishap(s)

**chapter 3: little mishap(s)**

**(((-)))**

Katsunan shifted uncomfortably in the chair, closing his eyes against the dank darkness. The yelling around him seemed to fade out and crescendo in the course of a split second, but both were deafening.

The boys, who looked to be a couple of years older than him, stumbled into the cave carelessly, leaning on each other and slurring about some girl one had met at a bazaar. They didn't seem the type he should associate with, let alone aggravate. Katsunan waited for them to notice him as he huddled in the shadow of a jagged column of wood jutting out of the sand. They wouldn't, of course, what with their drunken staggering and his pickily chosen hiding place. Water droplets sprayed by the waterfall about two feet away from him snapped against his skin, the cool rush of air generated by the falling water floated by his face. A strip of sand was highlighted by the little sunlight let in by the waterfall. The thin, acrid scent of mold wafted around. Annoying. He wanted to get out of here already, but he knew he'd be overwhelmed by the drunkards.

Closing his eyes, he debated between slipping out unseen and waiting through the entire debacle. They were yelling rowdily when he'd He'd almost drifted into a heat-induced nap when there was a sharp tug around his neck-his shirt collar. He peered into the face of the leering boy who jerked him backwards, "What the-" he yelled.

Katsunan could barely understand what they were saying. They were talking so much faster than his tutors did, and their thick, ragged voices were hard to discern. He was being dragged around, the faces and images blurring and flashing. The stitch of sand against his skin burned as he struggled against his assaulter's hold. Trying to recall the lessons of basic self-defense, his expression twisted and the air seemed to be harder to take in then before. The breathing he managed was deep but panicked.

"Fuckers." he muttered. They observed him drunkenly, not reacting to his words with anything but confusion.

Calm down and think, young Master. His tutor, Shinto. Analyze the situation. A crowd of boys-all stronger than him-were jeering and shoving him around. The whip blur of motion made it hard to see anything clearly, but there were at least ten boys, stuffed into the cave. There was barely any place to move around. His head was turning circles and spinning. Act accordingly. On shaky legs, Katsunan dashed towards a source of light. Or, he thought he was. The dizziness made it hard to recognize anything. There was a sudden yell, which he barely recognized through the haze. It was a phrase often used by the foreign cook when he ran away from the kitchen with one of the smaller slabs of meat. "Get back here!"

He ducked around before the world turned and he fell, face crushing into the sand. It was all he could do to make sure he didn't breathe in any of the gritty grains as they closed in, irritated and amused all at once. A pair of boots stepped into view before one of the shoes, and subsequently a weight settled onto his neck threateningly, but Katsunan gritted his teeth, gathering courage. What was the phrase again? Stop, stop, stop...Katsunan struggled to get a grip on the elusive knowledge. When he finally grasped it, he yelled it as loudly as he could, which was barely above a whisper at this point. The boot crushed further into his throat before it was lifted suddenly. As soon as he could, Katsunan squirmed away from the crowd, the haze of his vision clearing. Through the legs of some of the boys, he saw a short silhouette, dark against the bright sunlight at the entrance, creeping towards him. As it came closer, the members of the crowd followed his diverted attention.

The silhouette-a boy who looked his age-approached him, laying a small hand on his equally small shoulder. His savior exchanged a brief conversation, some of which he followed.

They began to close in again and fear consumed Katsunan. Glancing back, he saw the telltale twinkle of something-not fright, but helplessness-in his eyes. Hesitation. The other's face tightened minisculely before his hand reached out in what seemed a conditioned reaction. It seemed somewhat familiar to Katsunan, but he couldn't quite place its significance at the moment. The obscure faces of the delinquents neared them still, and a thrill of fear shot up his spine. His hands were shaking as the other stood in front of him protectively.

Then there were more silhouettes against the light-a group of about five boys, who were looking around curiously. The chattering of the language he barely followed commenced, and one of the boys-the leader, by the looks of it-approached, barking out conversation with his savior before sticking out a hand to pull him up.

Katsunan greatfully took the hand, startled when the other started pumping it violently. His wide-eyed expression must've made the others take pity on him, because they subtly separated the two.

Most of his assaulters had left by this point, wandering off to who-knows-where to pass out from cheap alcohol drunkenness, but a few remained.

Even still, they avoided conflict and ran away.

It would've damaged his pride if he'd cared.

**(*)**

When the bear of a man finished speaking with his savior, he sighed and walked towards Katsunan as the boy left the room. As soon as the he was out, the man turned and, in a fluent but accented tongue, asked "What is your name?"

Katsunan was startled. The man, who looked to be some sort of ruffian, knew how to speak his native language. It'd been nearly three days since he'd last spoken to anyone.

"Katsunan," he answered simply. The man rubbed his stubbly chin contemplatively.

"By the looks of it, you're a monk student," Ulysses commented.

"Yeah." he said, nose twitching as he observed the room, still keeping hostile but cautious eyes on the other.

"Ah, one of those," the man said, smiling a bit. "My name is Ulysses Spinnaker. You've probably heard of me," he continued. Katsunan scowled at the man. Of course he knew who Ulysses Spinnaker was. "And the boys who brought you here were my sons and their friends. The one who just left is Isaac."

"Tch." he finally grunted, turning his head away from the man.

"Well, as fun as this's been, I must be off. My crew needs me. Isaac should be back in a couple of minutes, so just wait right there."

The door shut with a soft click, leaving the room quiet and empty save for the jumping flame of a candle on a table under the window. There were three hammocks-two on one side, and another at the opposite wall. Katsunan's shoes were neatly set by the door, waiting for his retrieval. The floorboards were rough beneath his bare feet.

He sat with his legs folded beneath him. What should he do in a strange house with the host gone? Explore?

It didn't even have two rooms. There wasn't any place to go from here. Restlessness settled in his stomach, and Katsunan had to struggle not to start poking around the desk.

The noontime sun was obscured by a single white wisp of cloud. Outside the window, he saw a cave exuding suspicious green fumes. Strange, dangerous-looking plants grew between the cracks of the rocks around it.

The door creaked open, snapping Katsunan back to attention. Stepping into the room was his savior, long dark hair obscuring his face as he stepped inside without taking off his shoes. He didn't say anything upon returning, simply setting down a small wicker basket and lifting the cloth covering its contents. Inside were sandwiches, mostly filled with meat and some red fruit.

The other began to eat, slowly and carefully, while Katsunan clapped his hands together and gave thanks. There were about twelve sandwiches in the basket, four of which he ate greatfully. He didn't know when his next meal was, after all.

After he'd been rescued by the louder brother, he'd been interrogated in a language he'd only begun learning a year ago. His hand still slightly ached from the tight grip of the boy's hand and his shoulder was sore from the violent shake. Of course, they'd let him off eventually when they realized his confusion.

Everyone that he'd seen was older than him and Isaac; the brother and his friends looked a couple years older. The floorboards dug into his legs as they both continued to sit and eat their food in silence.

Isaac stood suddenly, startling Katsunan. His eyes followed the other as he walked over to the desk and picked up one of two books. This one was thicker, bound in leather and trimmed with dull golden western designs. It crackled as he opened to a place marked with a thin red ribbon glued in the spine.

Standing, he stretched, trying to conceal his consciousness of the eyes that occasionally glanced up at him. He was sore from the fight, muscles twitching and prickling with sharp pain every time he moved them wrong. Before long, the other stood up and grabbed his arm, guiding him to one of the hammocks. He pointed at it, and Katsunan complied, laying wearily in it. He was uneasy as it swayed at each little shift in position he made. What if he fell out while he was asleep?

**((*))**

"What's he like, Isaac?" Damien asked, sucking powder sugar from a funnel cake sold at Aquila off his finger. Dried honey stuck to the corners of his mouth stubbornly as he looked down at his little brother.

"Excitable," Isaac replied. "I think you will like him once the language barrier is crossed." he said, remembering the wide grin that crossed the boy's face when he brought food.

"I don't see why he doesn't just speak our language. After all, he is on our island."

Isaac was silent at this.

"Well, Dad knows all sorts of languages anyways. He can teach him how to talk like us."

"Yes, but I get the feeling he won't want to learn from him."

"Why?"

"Do you not know what your Father did in Mooshu?" Isaac asked incredulously.

"If it was important, he'd tell me." Damien responded diffidently, scratching the back of his hand. Isaac shook his head at him, but didn't say anything. Maybe he was better off not knowing his father's exploits. "Where is Dad, anyway?"

"He returned to Jonah town soon after he talked with Katsunan."

"So his name's Katsunan?"

"Allegedly," Isaac murmured. The sun was setting, the darkness and stars beating down the orangey hues of twilight. "Did you finish your mission?" he asked. The subject change didn't go unnoticed by Damien, who blinked at him owlishly before answering.

"No. Joshua got sick of us and took off in the middle of it," his brother grinned. "I wouldn't be surprised if he had a dartboard with our pictures on it," A brief silence built before Damien asked, "So where's this Katsunan guy? It's the first time I get to meet one of your friends, you know."

"Believe me, I know," Isaac grumbled, casting a glance to Damien's cheery face. "I left Katsunan with Vadima since he was so curious about her lair."

"Oh. I feel bad for the guy. You should've just left him with LaFitte; she's much more fun."

"Perhaps," Isaac said. "Or we could just leave him there for the night," he said, voice dry and remorseless. "I have a feeling he will be noisy if we bring him back." Damien chuckled at his brother's coldness.

"Don't joke around like that, Isaac. Someone might take it seriously." Damien said. I am serious, Isaac thought to himself, but he let the older continue towards the cave.

"You come back here with that, you skinny goat!" yelled a woman from within. Loud, vengeful yelling and the sound of glass shattering followed. "Gahh! I got that all the way from Mooshu! Get out of my cave! Even if it's a favor from Isaac, you're never allowed to come in here again. As they looked inside, they spotted none other than Katsunan scowling back at Vadima as she chased him away from her shelves with a broom. That is, before she tripped over one of the overabundant floor cushions. Katsunan let out a victorious smile. She faceplanted into the rug, laying still for a second before rising, dark purple fog beginning to gather around her. Katsunan's smug smirk vanished, replaced by an uncertain, focused scowl. He reached into his robes and produced two short knives.

"What's going on?" Damien interrupted carelessly. Through all the chaos, his smile remained static and unconcerned.

"Damien, Isaac, come restrain this hooligan! And Isaac, you owe me two favors now."

"Ah." Isaac replied, observing the room. Glass glittered against the mossy stone bricks, and ingredients were scattered everywhere. A pink powder lingered in the air near the far wall where the witch doctor usually stood, Vadima's crystal ball lay dull near a table, and Vadima herself was sprinkled with gops of some thick, green liquid.

When he saw Isaac, Katsunan grinned, eyes sparkling. He began chattering in his own language proudly, providing a sweeping tour of everything he did as he darted around and pointed out little details of his ministrations, That is, until he saw Isaac's expression.

The boy was petrified, face stuck in one mood even as Damien shook his shoulders violently as Katsunan yelled hostilely, trying to separate the two. Katsunan was now rapid-firing questions at the younger, who looked straight ahead despite the concern he garnered.

The sun was far below the horizon when Ulysses arrived only to find an exhausted Vadima watching over the lounging forms of Damien and Katsunan. Isaac was still standing, stock still, staring at all the misdeeds of his overly loyal 'friend.'

He tossed the two fast-asleep boys over his shoulder while one hand dragged his plank-like son behind him. Happy mutters of 'oh, youth,' 'i wonder what happened this time,' and 'it's good to make new friends,' escaped his mouth.

(And undoubtedly, it had happened before. It had to, with a brother like Damien.)

**((*))**

When Isaac finally recovered in the afternoon of the next day, he awoke to the sounds of studious muttering.

"Glass." murmured his father.

"Garasu. G-L-A-S-S." Who was it again?

"Jars."

"Jasu. J-A-R-S." Katsunan repeated.

"Glass jars."

"Garasu jasu." Katsunan repeated, stumbling over the muted syllables. "Grasu jars. Grass jars. Glass jars." He repeated, until the 'R' became a muted 'L.'

Ulysses began speaking in the other language, and Isaac only caught snatches of familiar phrases. They continued speaking for some time as Isaac lay listening before the boy finalized, putting phrases together. He doubted the other really comprehended the full meaning, but at least he knew enough to put them together.

"Good morning. I am sorry for breaking your grasu jars."

They started talking again before the creak of the floorboards under one set of heavy footsteps alerting him to the man's exit. He turned over.

He didn't expect that there would be a face waiting fervently for him.

"Good morning! I'm sorry for breaking your gurasu jars!" Katsunan yelled, kneeling and slamming his head into the ground. Damien started out from his sleep, falling from the hammock nearby with a gasp.

"Oh," he started. "Those weren't mine. Those were Madame Vadima's-you should apologize to her," At Katsunan's helpless look, he said "Say sorry to the woman, not me."

"But...I do not want to." the other said slowly. Damien unmirthfully grumbled before curling up on the floor and trying to go back to sleep.

"That would be rude."

"Rude?" the other repeated.

"Impolite. Not nice."

"...because you told me, so I will say…" the other mumbled, embarrassed.

**((*))**

"This child will not be in my class, regardless of his or your wishes," Vadima said disdainfully. "The troublemaker would be better off with Miss LaFitte." she ignored the burning glare she was receiving from said child. Isaac was standing off to the side, inventorying the shelves and making sure everything was back in place.

"Woman, let me join Sir Isaac's class." After learning the term 'sir' the week before, he'd taken to calling Isaac as such.

"Did you think a two-day-late apology and fifteen minutes of doing nothing but bothering me would be enough to convince me of your angelic ways?"

"Vadima, my friend, you can't still be mad about that little mishap of ours, can you?" he asked, turning a pleading face to the woman. I thought she would be over it by now! He imploringly grabbed her hand and the boy's, clapping them together and shaking them. "See? A handshake is all it needs. Now please enroll him in this class before he decides that my presence is completely useless."

"It is completely useless," she said immediately. Ulysses sobbed into his withdrawn hands, frame shaking as he walked to a corner and sat there pathetically, peeking every second or so to see if she pitied him yet. "Now both of you get out of my cave before you destroy it." When neither budged, she grabbed the back of Ulysses' collar and dragged him to the entrance. But before she could grab hold of Katsunan, his hand darted into his robe, lifted something up, and smashed it down. Smoke puffed around him, filling the cave almost as soon as it exploded. Vadima screamed in frustration as she ran around like a headless chicken, trying to find the boy. When she bumped into a body, she grabbed it.

"Madame, is that you?" Isaac asked as he felt arms crush around his shoulders. However, before she could respond, her momentum made her lose her equilibrium, leaning heavily on the shorter boy. The bumped into the shelves,

Glass shattered. The shelf tipped dangerously. Glass rained.

**(*)**

"Sir Isaac, I'm sorry! It won't happen again!" Katsunan yelled, ignoring the irritated stare of one Miracle Mitch, who was standing as far away as possible and brewing something that perfumed the room with the scent of rotten eggs.

Isaac just stared at the familiar ceiling as he lay on the uncomfortable surface. He didn't even acknowledge the other boy's presence as he continued to execute perfect bows.

"You should apologize to me." Vadima said as she stood in the doorway. Instead of the usual scarf, white bandages were wrapped around her head. Her usual tight corset was replaced with a baggy white shirt. Though her injuries were worse than Isaac's when they were brought in, she had a quicker recovery rate.

"Tch, you don't deserve it," Katsunan scoffed. And then, under his breath, "Thank you for helping Sir Isaac."

"Bullying my new student, Vadima?" asked a high, swinging voice as a short woman stepped in behind the other teacher.

"Miss LaFitte, always a pleasure," Vadima said, a small smile lighting her face.

"I've told you to call me Morgan," she said playfully, swatting Vadima's shoulder before frowning apologetically when the other winced. "Well, as you may have heard, I am Morgan LaFitte, the mentor for young swashbucklers."

"Katsunan glanced at her uninterestedly, face falling to a default scowl before going back to his apologies.

"Oh, how cute!" Morgan exclaimed with twinkling eyes, not noticing the differential treatment she was getting. "My new favorite student!" Her purple scarf and gray coat swayed as she fluttered around Katsunan, He still ignored her, apologizing even louder as Isaac's eyes twitched in annoyance.

"You change your favorite student on a weekly basis, Miss LaFitte," Vadima said, smirking.

"Oh, you. It's only cause they're all so precious," she replied as she unwrapped herself from the boy. "Well, now that I've seen him, I have to go, as much as I loathe leaving."

"Goodbye, Miss LaFitte," Vadima called as the compact woman walked out.

"Call me Morgan!"

Vadima'd had enough of the loud apologies, so she returned to her cave.

Only for Damien and Ulysses to sweep past her. Isaac closed his eyes against the chaos that was about to ensue. The door shut quietly, and both new occupants were surprisingly subdued as they moved towards Isaac's side. Isaac saw that both seemed exhausted, though in different ways. The lingering smell of dried sweat was clear on Damien, while his father looked somewhat drained.

"What happened?" he asked.

"Long missions," Damien said simply before sitting near his feet. "Let's go home, yeah?"

"I'll carry you home, Sir Isaac!" Katsunan said unreasonably. He was at least three inches shorter and nowhere near as bulky as Damien, not to mention the father. But before he could move to pick Isaac up, a large hand hoisted him back and gingerly picked the injured up.

"Let's go home." the man said gruffly. Without waiting for a response, he was already at the door. Katsunan, displeased, trailed after but had half a mind to protest the man. Damien dragged in the back.

**(*)**

"Hey kid, wanna play a game?" A thin, spindly hand emerged from the alleyway, snagging at him and tugging on his arm. A skeletonesque man emerged from the shadows between two shops. "First round comes with a free trinket," Katsunan glared at the man, shaking off his hand. He was walking with an important person and had no time to spare for strange men. The tallow skin stretched over his long face tightened in a grimace. "C'mon kid, I gotta make a living." Isaac, who'd gone a few paces ahead, glanced back with an unreadable expression.

He doubled back, shoving a hand into his pocket. The man scrutinized him. "How 'bout you, sonny?" he asked, leering. "Your foreign friend doesn't seem to understand me. Perhaps you could translate after you've played."

"I know what you said, vendor. I don't want to play." Katsunan said, proud of himself for not stumbling over the words. He'd made sure to learn as much of the language as possible so that communication was easier between him and the brothers. He didn't see the need to talk to much anyone else (except Ulysses, but he didn't count).

"I'll play." Isaac said, giving the spindly man an expectant stare. The other broke into a toothy smile that emphasized the angularity of his face. His sharp blue eyes seemed too round, too silly-they bulged outwards, giving him an almost cartoonish look in his feeble state. He rubbed his scraggly, tangled beard, beginning down they way and waiting for them to follow him.

The man mumbled conversations raspily to himself, looking nervous and excited as he continued into the alley. His tilted amble led them into the narrow way, lined by random scraps and the occasional pile of trash lining the path. Isaac stepped over neatly stacked tincans as the scent of rotting fish and overripe fruit invaded their noses. They scrunched their noses as they continued to evade the trash the skeletal man stepped around deftly.

A window abovehead slammed open, making both boys jump. Neither even had room to blink when they were rained with slimy, rotten, disgusting trash. Fishbones got caught in Isaac's long hair, and he closed his eyes against what seemed like old milk slopping down his face. Thankfully, the few tin cans and tinted yum bottles missed his still-recovering head, dropping by his feet. When he finally felt that his eyes were trash-safe, he opened them to see that Katsunan was in much the same state.

He stared straight ahead, disappointed in his luck and the world in general.

I won't stop smelling like trash for the rest of the month, probably, he thought. Of course, the old man probably has it worse. The heat bore down on them and the window slammed shut without so much as an apology or acknowledgment of their presence. Katsunan was shaking with rage, head crowned with falling orange peels and glops of solid milk.

"Oi, trash bitch! Watch where you're dumping your shit! You could've killed us!" Katsunan screamed angrily at the window, which remained closed and unmoved by his fury. In the distance some man yelled 'shut up, brat' before all was quiet.

Katsunan turned on the skeletal man resentfully.

"This is your fault, old man. You better pay for the damages you caused to Sir Isaac."

"S-sir Isaac?" the man laughed. "There are no royals here,"

"Sir Isaac is the most grandest, most refined man you'll ever meet!" The man's laughter died down and he stared at Katsunan amusedly.

"Right, right," he said. "Kids these days." he mumbled afterwards, a small smile making its way onto his face despite having a fleck of rotten milk on him too. Isaac wiped the remnants of the trash from his face and hair, wincing as his hand's slimy new coat dripped and slowly. Finally, he just wiped it on the wooden walls, ignoring the possibility of splinters and oh God was more dripping down his face.

He felt like he was about to be sick when the man approached a small dwelling. Actually, it was more like three layers of cloth covered in more filth draped and tied over four sticks dug into the ground.

"Alright, this is how you play," the man said, taking out a large wooden tankard, a small wooden cup, and a small unglazed planting pot. He pulled a small chunk of moldy cheese from his pocket before sitting down on the ground. "I will put this delectable morsel under one of the cups. Memorize which cup the cheese is under, and then I will mix everything up. If you get it right, you can have both the fresh cheese and your free trinket. If not, then you go home with one less gold and feelings of disappointment in yourself. Get it?" He smiled at his own joke as he set the three cups on the sand.

"There we go." he said, placing the cheese under the smaller wooden cup. All the cups are different! Isaac thought, clearing his expression. There's no way anyone would get it wrong!

It didn't end there. The man moved his hands so slowly-there was no magical moment where they were astonished and all the containers moved in a blur. The old man stopped, holding his hands out wide. "Alright. Which one is the cheese in?"

"This one," Isaac said, touching the top of the small wooden cup.

"Oh my, you have sharp eyes, young man." the man said, feigning excitement even as his expression dropped. "Now, your trinket…"

He dug around in the pile of alleged trash in the back of his little shelter. He extracted something white-a piece of bone?-and turned over isaac's hand, dropping it into his palm. The man's hand lingered on the wooden cup before lifting it and picking up the piece of cheese.

"As expected of Sir Isaac!" Katsunan beamed at the other. Anyone would have gotten it… Isaac thought to himself.

"Can I just take the trinket?" Isaac asked. Who would take food from a starving man?

"Ah...yes," the man said, smiling. "Thank you for playing, young man!" And with that, Isaac and Katsunan were gone.

"Sir Isaac, you deserved that cheese, no matter how rotten."

"I didn't want it. He'd be better with it than I would," Isaac said, staring at the clouds crossing the afternoon sun. "We should go home. Damien said he'd be back early today."

"Ah, okay."

**(*)**

As soon as he was sure everyone was asleep, Isaac pulled the piece of bone from his pocket. Tiptoeing to the desk, he held it under the light of the moon. The bone looked even starcher under the gentle illumination, almost glowing in his hands. He looked closer-the bone wasn't just picked up from scraps; it was carved into a gently curving fish, as if leaping. It was about as long as his thumb, and a hole was drilled behind the head, just where the first dorsal fin began.

He rubbed his thumb over the charm-the scales, each individually etched, were realistic to a point, detailed perfectly. He yawned before tucking the fish back into the pocket of his pants, ignoring the slightly damp feeling.

**(((-)))**

**A/N 9/27/2014: okay woo that was late. Haha. Anyways, like I said, I'm going to go ahead and write the next few chapters so there might be a slightly longer break between chapters.**

**A/N 10/2/2014: I am so sorry! I don't know what happened with the chapter-I just checked it so I could see where I was for the next chapter, but I didn't know it would do that...thing. Anyways, here's the REAL third chapter with the actual mishaps. I'll start writing the fourth now.**

**~flockwound**


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